Crawling in my skin
by ninjanervana
Summary: In the aftermath of the Nogitsune possession, Stiles is desperate to feel safe in his own body again. But how can he trust that he's truly safe? There's only one way for him to be sure.
1. Chapter 1

Hello friends! I know it's been an incredibly long time since I posted anything. Life unfortunately got in the way and then I lost track of my muse and let me tell you, it was a struggle to find that little shit again. But now I'm back with a new story for a new fandom.

Now time for a disclaimer: I've only ever seen one episodr of Teen Wolf. And I'm sure you're all saying, "But how are you writing for a fandom you aren't really part of?" So what happened was I somehow fell into the Sterek fanfiction black hole and I've honestly read hundreds of stories and watched tons of fan videos [side note: if you know any good videos, let me know cause I live for them.] So long story short, all my knowledge is based on fanfiction, so don't judge me too harshly.

This will be two, maybe three chapters long. So leave a review, let me know what you think, I accept all constructive comments. Happy reading!

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The door sliding open to his loft was no surprise to Derek. He had gotten used to the teenagers coming and going as they pleased, using his loft as their second home whether he wanted them to or not. Homework, research, pack nights, all of it was done in his loft more often than not. He'd never admit it, but he enjoyed having the rowdy bunch around. No, he wasn't surprised that someone was coming into his loft; he was surprised at who the person was.

He had heard Stiles's jeep puttering down the road for the past mile, heard Stiles's slightly too fast heartbeat as he got closer. Still it was strange for the teenager to come over, especially at this hour. The Nogitsune had only been defeated a week before. Stiles had been hospitalized for two days for sleep deprivation, malnutrition, and a myriad of cuts and bruises; he was released just in time for the funerals. Whether that was a good thing or not, he wasn't sure still. Derek hadn't seen him since then, though he wanted to desperately. But he knew better than anyone that sometimes you needed space to lick your wounds; sometimes even the most gentle touch hurt. So he impatiently waited for some sort of sign from Stiles that he wanted to have company around. Derek did not expect him to show up at 8:30 on a Sunday morning, but he would take what he would get.

"Stiles," Derek greeted him as he walked out of the kitchen, trying not to wince as he looked at him. He knew that a few days wasn't nearly enough time for Stiles to bounce back from being possessed, but he couldn't get over the dramatic difference between the Stiles he had known for the past few years and the Stiles that stood in front of him. The teen was pale as a sheet, his cheeks hollowed, and dark bruises under his eyes. His shoulders were hunched in as he shifted from one foot to the other in the doorway.

"Can I come in?" Stiles murmured uncertainly, unable to meet Derek's eyes for more than a moment.

"Yeah of course," Derek answered easily. He walked over to the door, hauling it open further. "What are you doing here so early?"

Stiles glanced up at him briefly before shuffling into the loft. "I...I need a favor," he muttered desperately as the door slid shut behind him. His arms crossed over his chest tightly, his fingers unconsciously tapping against his sides. "Please."

Derek nodded warily, "Okay, what do you need?"

His eyes jerked up to Derek's face, hazel orbs filled with shock, as if he expected to be rebuked. Some of the tension left his shoulders as he took a deep breath, preparing himself. "I need you to drive me somewhere. About three hours from here there's a tattoo shop; they do tattoos for supernaturals," Stiles explained.

"You want to get a tattoo?" Derek asked skeptically. He could feel his eyebrows inching up his forehead, making a conscious effort to control his expression. Stiles always gave him shit about his expressive eyebrows; he didn't want to give him the wrong impression. "You're terrified of needles."

"I need to get it, Derek," he pleaded frantically, his voice cracking. He fumbled for his bag on his shoulder, tugging it open and pulling out a stack of papers. "I've been doing research," Stiles explained as he flipped through the pages, the loose sheets fluttering to the loft floor. "And I found a symbol, backed by the Beastiary and several magic sources, that works as an anti-possession mark. It basically prevents your body by being possessed by anything. No-nothing can get in. Look," he begged as he held up a paper, the sheet shaking slightly. "Please, I just..."

Derek walked toward him slowly, like one would approach a skittish animal. He wrapped his hand around Stiles's wrist firmly, helping him hold the sheet steady as he focused on the symbol drawn on the page. "And you're sure about this?" Derek asked cautiously.

Stiles nodded jerkily, his eyes wide. "Positive. I even called Deaton and checked it out with him, made sure it's the right thing to get tattooed. He said it was good. Please Derek, I just-I just need someone to go with me. I don't mean to bother you but I can't go alone."

He mulled over the idea for a moment. Part of him wanted to refuse Stiles, to tell him to wait until he was properly rested and healed before he made a decision. But it was clear from the bags under Stiles's eyes and the smell of exhaustion hanging around him that rest was not something that would come easily, not while he was still terrified the Nogitsune would come back. If this is what it took to make Stiles feel safe in his own skin, Derek would do it. In a heartbeat, he would do anything to remove the weight on Stiles's shoulders.

"Okay," Derek finally answered, nodding his agreement. "Yeah I'll take you."

Stiles's arm suddenly dropped to his side, all of the tension melting from him so fast Derek was worried he'd suddenly drop to the floor. "Holy shit, really?" he breathed. "Oh man, Derek, thank you."

Derek smiled gently at him, reaching out to squeeze the back of Stiles's neck lightly. "Lemme just have some breakfast and we can hit the road," he said as he turned back to the kitchen. "Come have something to eat."

"I'm not hungry," Stiles replied as he gathered up his fallen papers before following after Derek.

"Not an option," he retorted as he gestured toward one of the empty seats. "You've gotta have something in your stomach if you're gonna get a tattoo."

Stiles stared down at the counter as he rested his hands on it, tapping lightly. "I can't keep anything down," he said quietly, the scent of guilt and shame filling the room with a bitter smell. "It comes back up."

Derek hummed sympathetically, his expression gentling. He remembered the dark days after the fire, unable to keep anything in his stomach no matter how desperately he wanted to. "I'll make you something easy on your stomach," he assured him as he grabbed a container of oatmeal from the cupboard. "Try to eat some of it at least."

He nodded in agreement, running his hands tiredly over his face. "Yeah, okay," Stiles answered. "What do I have to lose."

"Laura used to make me this when we were in New York," Derek said softly, his eyes focused on the oats in the bowl as he worked. "When we first fled to New York. For weeks after the fire, I barely keep anything down, no matter how hard I tried. The only thing that worked was broths and that's not exactly filling." He pulled open his spice cupboard, grabbing the vanilla and cinnamon. "I was wasting away in front of Laura and I just wanted to be okay for her, or at least be able to fake being okay. I didn't want her to lose the last of her family because I couldn't get my shit together." He paused to take a deep breath, grabbing a saucepan from the cupboard and setting it on the stove. "Then one morning I got up and she was making oatmeal. And it actually smelled kinda good, like the scent didn't make my stomach clench with nausea. So she made me a bowl and it was the first meal I kept down properly in three weeks." He turned toward Stiles as the scent of shame evaporated, a small sad smile on his lips. "I was so relieved I broke down at the kitchen table; Laura had to calm me down so I didn't make myself sick from crying."

Lifting the now finished oatmeal from the stove, he carefully divided the food between two bowls, grabbing them and a pair of spoon from the drawer. "I might not get being possessed," Derek said gently, setting a bowl in front of Stiles, "but I get how hard this part is. It's hard, but it's not impossible to come back from."

Stiles looked up at Derek, his brown eyes a little wet. "Thanks, Der," he answered huskily, sniffling as he turned his attention to his bowl.

Derek stroked the back of Stiles's head lightly before settling into the seat beside him. He tried not to pay too much attention to Stiles eating, not wanting to make him more self-conscious than he probably was already, but he couldn't help glancing at him out of the corner of his eyes every few moments.

It took some time, but eventually both bowls were emptied, all remnants of their breakfast gone. "Okay," Stiles exhaled, staring at the bowl in awe. "That was good. I think I'm good."

Derek smiled slightly as he grabbed the bowls, carrying them to the sink. "No nausea?" he questioned.

Stiles shook his head, "My stomach doesn't feel like I swallowed a brick either. I think this might actually stay down. Hopefully."

"Good," Derek answered, trying to hide his relief. "I'll get changed and then we can head out." He squeezed Stiles's shoulder lightly as he walked past him, heading for the stairs. Swapping his pajama bottoms and under shirt for a pair of jeans and a Henley, Derek walked back into the kitchen as Stiles hung up his phone.

"Dad," Stiles explained tiredly, slumped against the kitchen counter. "He's at work so I left him a message. Hopefully he won't send out a search party when he realizes I'm not home. He's got enough to worry about," he muttered.

Derek nodded in understanding. "Come on," he said, heading to the loft door. "Let's head out."

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	2. Chapter 2

"You can go to sleep if you want to," Derek said as Stiles jerked himself awake again, shaking his head as if he could shake off his exhaustion. They were two hours into their drive, Derek volunteering his car since he wasn't sure the Jeep would make it there. Most days he was surprised the Jeep could make it to the grocery store and back in one piece. The first hour had passed almost normally, with Stiles fiddling with the radio and chattering away about the tattoo parlor he had found, the ink he had made himself with Deaton's advice, the tattoo artist he had spoken to over the phone. It wasn't the same level of animation that Stiles had before he was possessed, but Stiles wasn't the same person he was before either. Still, seeing him talk about something, be enthusiastic about something, gave him hope that maybe Stiles could regain something he lost.

The second hour saw Stiles's energy dramatically falling. His sentences began to trail off quietly, the time between their banter lengthening. If Derek didn't know how sleep deprived Stiles was, he would have thought something else was wrong with him. Whenever Stiles would grow quiet for more than two or three minutes, Derek would lower the radio volume, hoping the white noise would help Stiles fall asleep. Unfortunately, Stiles wouldn't doze for more than ten minutes or so before he was jerking himself awake again with a snort or a soft gasp, his heart rate spiking.

"Can't," Stiles mumbled, rubbing at his eyes. "Can't sleep."

"Can't or won't?" Derek asked, glancing at him as he raised an eyebrow.

Stiles gave him a half-hearted glare before staring out the front windshield. "Both," he said flatly, arms crossed over his chest as his fingers unconsciously tapped against his sides. "What's the point of going to sleep if I'm gonna wake up in two hours screaming myself hoarse and clawing at my arms? I'll pass."

Derek frowned deeply, "And you think the tattoo will help?"

Stiles shrugged, gnawing at his bottom lip. "Maybe? Hopefully? I mean it can't get any fucking worse."

"Don't say that," he retorted dryly. "Knowing our luck, all four tires will simultaneously blow out and a sinkhole will open beneath us."

Stiles snorted loudly, shaking his head as his eyes began to droop again. "Count on us to escape this hellmouth of a town only to be swallowed by an actual hole to hell."

"It would happen to us," Derek sighed, lowering the radio volume as Stiles's eyes closed again.

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"Stiles," Derek called gently as he shut off the car, laying his hand on Stiles's arm. He shook his shoulder, trying not to startle him too much. "Wake up."

Stiles jerked awake with a flail, his eyes blinking rapidly as he tried to adjust to his surroundings. "Hmm huh?" He ran his hand across his face, looking around but not seeming to absorb anything.

"You fell asleep for a few minutes; we're here," he explained, gesturing out the front windshield. "The tattoo parlor."

Stiles rubbed his eyes hard, staring at the building before turning his attention to his hands. "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten," he counted his fingers quietly once, twice, three times before turning his gaze to Derek. "Didn't realize I fell asleep," he explained tiredly. "I still have to check."

Derek felt his heart squeeze in sympathy at the teenager's defeated expression. "With a building like this, I can't blame you," he replied, trying to lighten the mood.

The tattoo parlor was a squat building set apart from a local strip mall off a random exit from the highway. The building was painted a cheerful yellow, the front door a dark green, and all the windows were blacked out. A dark blue sign hung above the door, simply stating tattoos. "You're sure this is the place?" Derek asked skeptically.

Stiles nodded, stretching his arms in front of it. "It's bright enough to wake me up," he replied as he shook off his tiredness, climbing out of the car. "Couldn't miss it if we tried."

"It's a wonder that anyone can," Derek replied as he stood, stretching his back. Werewolf healing was great, but it didn't mean his back didn't get stiff from sitting still too long. He grabbed his sunglasses off his seat, slipping them on his face.

"Well maybe that's the point," he retorted as he grabbed his backpack from the car. He unzipped the bag, fumbling around with the contents before closing the bag again. "Hiding in plain sight so no one who's outside of the know stops in. I mean if I was like in a biker gang or something, this is not where I'd come to get a tattoo."

He snorted loudly, raising an eyebrow. "A biker gang?" he questioned.

"Shut up, that was the first tattooed group I could think of," he shot back. "It wasn't my best explanation but it works. Come on, let's head inside. They're expecting me around now."

"You made an appointment?" Derek asked as he locked the car, heading around the front of it toward Stiles. He inhaled deeply, scenting the air for any signs of danger.

Stiles nodded as he hiked his bag onto his shoulder. "You don't just walk into a supernatural tattoo parlor without letting them know," he answered, heading toward the building. "That's just asking for trouble. Hey, I wonder if they can do tattoos on werewolves or if your healing would just destroy the ink? Maybe they've got special ink for shifters?"

"I'm not getting another tattoo," Derek answered with a fond eye roll. He looked around as they reached the front of the building, stepping in front of Stiles. "Me first," he said as he opened the door, stepping into the building.

"Protective wolf," Stiles snickered as he followed close behind him.

"Can I help you?" a man at the counter asked as the door swung shut behind them, setting aside the book he was reading. The counter was set at the far end of the room, a curtain behind it blocking off the back of the shop. His blond hair was artfully spiked, his gaze curious but wary.

"Hi, uh, I'm Stiles," he said as he stepped out from behind Derek. His gaze traveled the walls covered in tattoo designs, every inch of free space covered in color, before refocusing on the man. "I uh, I have an appointment with Ivette. For a tattoo."

He nodded, picking up his book again. "Ivette, someone's here for you," he shouted over his shoulder. "She'll be right out. You're her first customer today; most people come at night."

"Of course, to keep up the air of mystery," Stiles muttered, moving further into the shop only to be jerked to a stop.

"Let me walk in first, you idiot," Derek ordered, tucking the male behind him. "We're in unknown territory. Your dad will shoot me if I let something happen to you."

"Stiles?" a woman called before he could retort, drawing both of their attentions. The woman was small, barely 5'2 with dark brown hair that hung past her shoulders. She smiled gently as she came out from behind the counter. "We spoke on the phone. I'm Ivette."

"Yeah, I'm Stiles Stilinski," he answered politely, offering his hand. "Nice to meet you."

Ivette shook his hand, nodding her head. "It's nice to meet you too, Spark Stilinski. It has been a long time since I've met a Spark." She turned her attention to Derek, holding out her hand. "And you are?"

"Derek Hale," Derek introduced himself as he shook her hand, surprised to sense the restrained strength in her grip.

"Ah yes, the Hale werewolves of Beacon Hills," she replied, her gaze growing soft with sympathy. "I did not know your family, but I've heard of them; you have my most sincere condolences. My name is Ivette. I'm a Fae." She blinked suddenly, her eyes shifting from a warm brown to a vivid neon green. Ivette blinked again and they fluttered back to their original color. "If you'll follow me to the back, I have everything set up."

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	3. Chapter 3

Derek followed after Ivette as they headed into the back of the tattoo shop, ignoring the look Stiles gave him as he nudged him behind his back. If he didn't want Derek protecting him, he shoulda brought someone else. His mind spun as he tried to remember anything his mother had taught him about the Fair Folk when he was younger, but there were so many types and without knowing what type Ivette was, he couldn't be sure what was helpful and what was irrelevant. Sighing quietly, he hoped they hadn't unintentionally wandered into danger with no backup. Ivette seemed nice enough at the moment.

The back of the shop was considerably larger than the front. There were three tattoo chairs set up with a rolling table and stool on one side of the chair and a second rolling chair on the other. One wall was lined with steel cabinets; a sink and a long table with equipment set beside it. The opposite wall was half covered in tattoo designs; the other half covered in mirrors.

"You've brought the design, yes?" Ivette asked as she led them over to the tattoo chair in the middle. She sat on the stool beside the rolling table, looking at Stiles expectantly.

"Oh yeah, sure," Stiles replied, plopping his bag on the tattoo chair. He unzipped the bag, pulling out the pile of papers with a wince.

"You're a mess," Derek muttered fondly with an eye roll. "You didn't think to organize things before we left? Or during the drive?"

"Listen, I know exactly where it is. And it's somewhere in this pile, sassywolf. One of these papers is the right one," he retorted as he shook the papers.

Derek gave him a disbelieving look, "Well hurry up; I'm sure Ivette has other things to do too."

"Oh no, I'm most entertained by this," she giggled, a mischievous grin on her lips. "Alexander at the front is not very good with the banter. Please continue; I've nothing else to do this morning."

"Got it," Stiles announced victoriously, shoving the other papers back into his bag.

"This is old," Ivette murmured as he laid the paper on the table, tracing the design with the tip of her finger. "Very old."

Derek looked more closely at the design; he had barely paid attention to it earlier, more concerned about Stiles than the paper he practically shoved in his face. The tattoo design reminded him of an abstract sun, the circle and the rays of the sun written in some language he couldn't possibly know but reminded him vaguely of Lord of the Rings. The design was about the size of his palm, maybe a little larger. For the first time, he wondered where Stiles was planning to get the tattoo.

"Got the ink too," Stiles added as he carefully lifted a glass jar out of his backpack, setting it on the rolling table. The black ink sloshed in the jar, shimmering slightly in the light. "Might have gone a little overboard with how much I made but I didn't want us to get half way through the tattoo and not have enough."

Ivette nodded, smiling in understanding. "Better to have too much than too little," she agreed. "Where will we put the tattoo?"

Stiles tapped on his chest, right above his heart. "Right here."

"You know that's gonna hurt like a bitch, right?" Derek warned. "You haven't got much fat there; it's all muscle."

"Did you just compliment me, sourwolf?" Stiles joked weakly before sighing. "I know it's gonna hurt but it's best to do it as close as possible to the heart. Can't get much closer than this."

Ivette stood, walking toward the steel cabinets on the other side of the room. "Undress and take a seat on the chair; I'll prepare my tools," she called over her shoulder.

Derek could sense Stiles's unease as he pulled off his flannel shirt and reached for the hem of his t-shirt, his shoulders tensing as he took a breath. He purposely turned away from the younger man, his eyes locked on the floor in front of him. He knew what it felt like to be put on display when you felt vulnerable, how heat prickled painful up your spine and your stomach turned in knots as you wished for the ground to swallow you. If it made Stiles feel more comfortable, he would keep his eyes closed the entire time; he wouldn't leave him, but he would give him what privacy he could.

"Don't be so awkward, dude," Stiles murmured as he sat on the chair, his arms crossed over his chest. "You look like you're trying to set the floor on fire."

Derek turned back to him, taking in his hunched form before sitting beside him, his shoulder lightly pressed against his. He could already see the goosebumps forming on his skin from the cold. "Don't call me dude," he retorted as Ivette returned to them with her supplies.

She pulled on a pair of rubber gloves before opening an alcohol wipe. "Sterilization first," she said, waiting for Stiles's nod of approval before leaning forward and wiping his chest. Once she was satisfied, she pulled off the gloves, tossing them into the trash can.

"Alright first we need to transfer the tattoo from the paper to your skin," she explained as she sat back on the stool. "This won't hurt you, but I need you to sit very still."

"Uh, still isn't exactly my forte," Stiles admitted sheepishly. "But I'll try."

Ivette gave him an encouraging smile before she looked back at the tattoo design on the paper. Her eyes glowed green as she waved her hand over the paper, her fingers moving as if she were plucking something. Slowly the ink began to rise off the paper, the design re-forming in the air beneath her hand.

"That's so cool," Stiles breathed, his eyes widened in surprise.

"Very still," Ivette warned him as she moved toward him. She carefully pressed the design onto his skin, laying her hand against his chest as her eyes faded back to brown. Blinking rapidly, her hand dropped from his chest as she reached for the hand mirror on the tray. "This position okay?"

Derek leaned forward slightly, looking at Stiles's chest. "Looks good there. Stiles?"

"So we're not gonna talk about how cool that was?" he muttered, turning his attention to the mirror. He took it from here, tilting it one way then another to properly take in the design. "Yeah, that's perfect there."

"And it looks exactly the same as it did on paper?" Derek asked. "Everything in the right spot?"

Stiles nodded, "Yeah everything's the same. I drew this thing out like a hundred times; trust me, I know."

"It's always good to double check," Ivette commented as she opened a sealed bag and pulled out a tattoo gun. "All the things I use here are single use products; nothing gets used here twice to avoid cross-contamination. Which is especially dangerous when you're dealing with supernaturals."

Derek could feel Stiles tremble slightly beside him as his eyes focused on the tattoo gun in Ivette's hands. Stiles had never been good with needles and Derek honestly wasn't sure how he would handle this. He was sure she sensed just how nervous Stiles was, trying to ease his fear by explaining how the process worked. "You're sure you wanna do this?" he asked gently. "It's alright if you changed your mind."

Stiles swallowed hard, his hands clenching his jeans. "No," he answered as he squeezed his eyes shut as he forced himself to take steady breaths. "I need to do this."

Ivette leaned forward, glancing at Derek before resting her hand lightly on one of Stiles's clenched fists. "You have my word, young one, that I will do you no harm," she said solemnly. "You do not need to fear me."

"I trust you," Stiles answered after exhaling harshly, his eyes raising to meet Ivette's. "Let's just get this over with."

She nodded as she turned back to the table, carefully filling the tattoo gun with Stiles's ink. "Lay back please. Derek, you may sit on the stool on the other side of him."

Derek squeezed Stiles's shoulder gently as he stood, moving to the other stool. He could hear Stiles's heart beat accelerating as he laid back on the chair, his hands clenched tightly by his sides. His skin looked even paler against the black leather of the chair, a sharp contrast to the healthy flush Stiles usually sported.

"Are you ready?" Ivette asked gently, laying her free hand lightly on Stiles's chest.

Stiles nodded jerkily, his eyes never leaving the tattoo gun. "Ye-yeah, I'm good," he answered shakily.

At the first touch of the tattoo gun's needle to his skin, Stiles jerked with a pained gasp, his brown eyes wide. His body trembled slightly as his eyes remained fixed on the needle, his breathing growing shallow.

"Be still, young one," Ivette chastised gently, pressing her free hand more firmly against him to hold him in place. "I cannot correct mistakes."

"Stiles, don't look," Derek said firmly, placing his hand on Stiles's cheek as he turned his head toward him. His expression gentled as he took in the pained, slightly frightened expression on Stiles's face. "I can take your pain," he offered, his thumb unconsciously caressing his cheekbone.

"No," he whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before reopening them. "The pain is good. I know this is real; it's not a dream."

Nodding in understanding, Derek took Stiles's hand in his free on, lacing their fingers together. "You can squeeze my hand if it hurts," he suggested. "Don't look and squeeze my hand and it's gonna be over soon, okay? Just match your breathing to mine and try to focus on me. I'm here with you."

"Thanks, Der," Stiles murmured, the tension in his shoulders easing a bit as he squeezed his hand tightly.

Derek gave him a small smile, his thumb rubbing his cheek once more as he settled in for a long wait.

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Reviews please!


	4. Chapter 4

When you say a fanfic is only going to be two or three chapters long and suddenly you're on the fourth chapter and you're not done with the story yet.

I was also trying to post every Sunday and I missed yesterday and it was a little upsetting.

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The room was quiet for the first few minutes, the hum of the tattoo gun filling the air along with Stiles's shallow breaths. Derek was pretty certain Stiles wouldn't try to look down at his tattoo again, but left his palm resting against his cheek. The terrified look in his eyes was too familiar to Derek, the desperation to find something to hold onto while you felt you were drowning. Hell, he still had that look on bad days. Everyone needed something to hold onto.

"Derek?" Stiles whimpered, his brow wrinkled in discomfort. He closed his eyes for a second before forcing them open again.

"Yeah?" he answered, squeezing Stiles's hand gently. His eyes shifted down to where Ivette was working before returning to Stiles's face. "What is it? Do you need a break?"

"Can you just, can you talk?" he pleaded quietly, his eyes bouncing around the room. He reminded Derek of a frightened animal, all tense muscles and shifty eyes. "I can't- I don't like the silence."

"Talk about what?" Derek questioned,, his thumb absentmindedly stroking his cheek. Stiles's cheek felt cold as ice beneath his palm; he wondered distantly if it was because of the weight he had lost or if it was another thing the Nogitsune has stolen from him. "You're the chatterbox between the two of us."

"Anything," Stiles replied, his voice cracking. His grip on Derek's hand tightened dramatically; Derek was sure if he was human, something would be broken. He didn't need his werewolf senses to read the emotions clearly written on Stiles's face. "I need the noise. Please."

Derek nodded, thinking for a moment. "Did I ever tell you about me and Laura living in New York?" he asked softly, the familiar longing for his sister flaring in his chest. She would know what to do, how to ease the pain Stiles felt, make him comfortable in his skin again.

Stiles startled at his words, shaking his head slightly, "You don't have to talk about that; I know it's not easy."

"It's okay," Derek assured him, a small smile on his lips. "I wanna tell you about it. It wasn't all bad. It wasn't all good but it wasn't all bad. I loved New York." Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he raised his eyes to meet Stiles's amber ones. ' _Bambi eyes',_ his mind whispered to him. "You should go if you ever get the chance," he began.

Time passed unnoticed by the pair as Derek spoke, keeping his voice pitched low to soothe Stiles. The words tumbled from his lips without a thought; if he'd had the time to think about what he was saying, he was sure he wouldn't have been able to get the words out. But as Stiles was unable to ramble, Derek took up the task. He spoke about the small house in Queens he and Laura had rented out; they had to leave the apartment building they originally moved into because the neighbors complained about his screaming nightmares. About the lazy afternoons they had spent in Central Park, laying on the Great Lawn in the sun and eating hot dogs from the carts that constantly went by. About the broadway musicals Laura dragged him to that he pretended to hate but some were really good. About Laura pushing him to get his GED and then pushing him into college. About the degree he never got the chance to finish when Laura came back to Beacon Hills. About the nights his ghosts wouldn't let him sleep and he would just wander the streets like a ghost himself. About his disastrous attempt at therapy that ended in a panic attack in the parking lot beside Laura's camero. About all the panic attacks and dark thoughts Laura had to talk him down from.

Stiles's eyes would drift shut sometimes, the shallow breaths he took easing into something deeper, calmer, before he would jerk himself awake again. His hand would grip Derek's tightly in those moments, his eyes regaining their frightened look until Derek assured him that he hadn't fallen asleep and helped him count his fingers. Derek could feel his heart break a little bit with every round of counting, Stiles's desperate need to know he was still himself.

"Alright," Ivette said suddenly, interrupting Derek's story of his time working as a bouncer at a club. She turned off the tattoo gun, the silence jarring after the constant hum of the machine. "We're done, young one. Let me just clean you up and I'll show it to you."

Stiles sighed in relief, his body going lax against the chair as the tension left his body. "Thank god," he murmured, turning his cheek into Derek's palm as he closed his eyes. "Don't know how much more I could take."

"You did good," Derek assured him, stroking his hair. "And it's over now. We'll get you cleaned up and we'll go home."

He hissed softly as a wet cloth was wiped over his tattoo, goosebumps forming across his chest and arms. "Cold," Stiles mumbled unhappily as he opened his eyes.

"My apologies," Ivette answered sincerely as she sat back on her stool. "You're all done now. Sit up slowly."

Stiles nodded in agreement as Derek removed his hands, hovering behind him as he sat up. "Head rush," he mumbled as he braced his palms against his knees, his eyes closed as he took a few deep breaths. "Okay, I'm ready," he said, gesturing to the mirror Ivette held on her lap.

Derek moved to the other side of the chair as Ivette held up the mirror for Stiles. The black ink of the tattoo was a stark contrast to the unusual paleness of Stiles's skin, the skin around the tattoo tinged red.

"It's perfect," Stiles said, a small smile on his lips as he looked in the mirror. "What do you think?" he asked as he looked up at Derek.

"Suits you," he replied with a nod. "Not too big or small."

"Does this make me a badass now? Do I get a leather jacket like you?" he joked as Ivette carefully covered the tattoo with a bandage.

Derek rolled his eyes fondly as he grabbed Stiles's shirt from the edge of the chair, tossing it at him. "Thought you were the one always saying you're a badass with a bat."

A surprised look passed over Stiles's face before it settled into a small smile. "Yeah, yeah I am."

"And now for payment," Ivette said as Stiles pulled on his T-shirt.

"Yeah right," Stiles answered, grabbing his backpack from the floor and unzipping it. "Four hundred, right?"

"Not anymore," Ivette replied.

Derek barely resisted the urge to growl as he watched Stiles's body tense, his hands shaking slightly where they gripped his bag. He wasn't sure what terms Ivette and Stiles had agreed to, but clearly changing it now was freaking him out. Sudden changes with supernatural beings rarely went well for them. He slowly shifted toward Stiles, his muscles tensed for attack.

"We agreed to four hundred when we spoke," Stiles said slowly, trying to keep his voice steady as he locked eyes with her.

"We did. But I'm changing the terms of our agreement," she answered firmly. "I will not accept payment from you."

Her words stopped Derek in shock; his surprise and confusion echoed on Stiles's face. "What do you mean? I have to pay you," Stiles replied. "That's how this whole system works. You did something for me, I give you money in exchange for it."

Ivette shook her head, "That was before I knew. You've had much taken from you recently, young one. I will not be another to take from you, even if it's only money."

"How do you know?" Stiles asked, his voice cracking as Derek stood next to him, angling his body so Stiles was slightly behind him.

Ivette flashed her green eyes in response, a sad smile on her lips. "I see the scars you bear. The things that were taken without permission, the pain you carry in your soul," she answered gently. "I want nothing from you, young one."

"But I can not give you anything," Stiles retorted.

She pursed her lips, her eyes returning to normal as she thought. "If you must give me something, then I would ask for a favor."

"What kind of favor?" Derek asked warily.

She smiled up at Derek before turning her attention back to Stiles. "I want for you to go home with your wolf and rest," she said gently. "Try to find your peace. It has been lost, but many lost things can be found again given enough time."

"I...I can do that," Stiles answered quietly, his hands fisting his flannel shirt.

"Thank you," Derek said after a few moments of silence; clearly Stiles was too shocked to respond. Derek couldn't blame him; most supernatural interactions rarely went so well. "We appreciate everything you've done."

She nodded, her smile widening. "Hopefully we will meet again one day, under better circumstances. I enjoy making new friends."

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	5. Chapter 5

Derek knew when Stiles eventually crashed, he would crash hard; no one could go through the type of sleep deprivation and mental exhaustion he had been faced with and not crash at some point. Still, he hadn't expected it to hit him as hard as it did. By the time they said good byes to Ivette and walked out of the tattoo parlor, the trembling in Stiles's hands had progressed to full body shivers. His face seemed even paler than before, emphasizing the dark circles beneath his eyes. Derek was terrified he was going into some type of shock from the tattoo or had some kind of allergic reaction to the ink he had made. It would be their luck for Stiles to have a supernatural related medical emergency while they were three hours from home.

Stiles had waved off Derek's slightly frantic questions, his words slightly slurred as he explained the tattoo's initial strength drew on his own physical energy. Like jump starting a car battery with another car, the tattoo needed Stiles to give it the first jolt of energy before it could run on its own; that's how he was certain it was working. Of course he could have told Derek all of this at some point in the three hour drive there, but then he would have tried to stop Stiles from getting the tattoo. Stiles barely had the energy to function like a normal person; how much energy did he have to give the tattoo.

With a slightly worried huff, he wrapped an arm around Stiles's shoulders — _shit, he felt so cold_ — before leading him to the bodega attached to the end of the strip mall. After grabbing a bottle of water for himself and two Gatorades for Stiles — _it has to be the blue one, Derek. The rest are gross_ —, they headed back to the Camaro.

"Sit down before you pass out," Derek snarked as he opened the car door for him.

Stiles plopped unceremoniously into the passenger seat, his elbows braced on his knees as he rested his head in his hands.

Derek crouched in front of him, opening one of the Gatorade bottles. "Here," he said a bit more gently. "Drink some and you'll feel better."

Stiles looked up at him, his brown eyes taking a minute to focus on Derek before accepting the opened drink and chugging half of it. "'M okay, Der," he slurred as he swung his legs into the car, reclining the seat as much as possible. "Jus' need some rest. Tired."

"I can tell," Derek snorted as he closed the passenger door and moved around to the driver's side. After frowning worriedly at Stiles's still trembling form, he took off his leather jacket, draping it over him.

"Mmm warm," Stiles sighed contentedly, tucking his nose under the collar of the jacket as his eyes fluttered shut. "Thanks, Der."

"Take a nap," Derek ordered gently as he started the car, turning up the heat as much as he could bear. "I'll wake you when we're home." He shook his head, ' _How the hell did you expect to do this alone, Stiles?_

Once Stiles's breathing relaxed and his heartbeat eased into the steadiness of sleep, Derek slipped his phone out of his pocket, praying to whatever god he may or may not believe in that Stiles wouldn't wake up while he had on the speaker phone.

"Good afternoon, Derek," Deaton's voice greeted him as he set the phone into the cup holder. "What can I do for you this afternoon?"

"I took Stiles to get his tattoo. The one he had you help him research the design and the ink for," Derek answered bluntly. It was best to be direct with the veterinarian. "He's exhausted all his energy and fallen asleep within thirty minutes. Is that normal?"

Deaton hummed quietly, "Yes, that's quite normal. Or normal for Stiles I should say. Normally it wouldn't affect the human body so dramatically. It simply feeds on the energy from the user's body for its initial strength and runs on its own after that," he explained. "But as I'm sure Stiles didn't have as much energy as a normal healthy, well rested human, it's affecting him more strongly. The exhaustion will linger with him more severely for a day or two. After that, it won't draw from him anymore."

"And you didn't think to warn him about that? Or try to persuade him not to get it?" he questioned, his tone sharp.

"I don't think anyone can stop Stiles from doing something once he's set his mind to it."

Derek nodded slowly as he took in all the information; Deaton wasn't wrong about him. "Fine. But the tattoo won't take too much of his energy right? It won't try to take from his life force or something?"

"This is not black magic Stiles is using," the Druid answered firmly. "It will only take his normal energy, the strength he uses from day to day, to power itself."

"We're driving back to Beacon Hills now. If anything comes up or he looks like he's having a bad reaction or something, I'm bringing him to you," he warned.

"I expect nothing else," Deaton replied dryly. "Now I have patients to tend to. If you need anything else, give me a call."

Derek growled softly as the phone line went dead; Deaton always got under his skin. Taking a deep breath, he glanced over at Stiles, pleased to see he was still asleep and didn't seem to be in the throes of a nightmare. At least not yet.

He tore his attention away from Stiles as he heard his phone vibrate in the cup holder, glancing down at the name on the screen. ' _Oh shit,'_ he thought worriedly as he swiped open the phone and clicked the speaker button. "Sheriff," Derek greeted him, trying to keep his voice casual.

"Hey Derek," John replied, an edge of worry making him sound sharp. "Is Stiles with you? He's not answering his phone."

"Yeah, yeah he's here with me," Derek rushed to assure him. "He's fine; he's asleep. I think his phone might be in his bag."

"He's asleep?" he replied incredulously before sighing in relief. "Thank god, he needs it."

Derek nodded in agreement before realizing he couldn't see him. "He hasn't been asleep for too long, maybe thirty minutes or so but he needs what he can get."

"Yeah he does," John murmured. "I didn't see his missed call from this morning until now and then he left me this long voicemail about leaving town with you to go get a tattoo."

"Uhhh..."

John groaned softly before sighing. "Did my son convince you to drive him to a supernatural tattoo shop?" he said wearily. "God I wish that was the weirdest situation I've had to ask about him but it's not."

"I did take him," Derek replied honestly. "It's something he needed, to feel safe in his skin. He actually looked relaxed before he fell asleep in the car. And I called Deaton and checked out everything with him."

"Hopefully this helps him then," John answered warily. "Can he stay at your loft this afternoon? I won't be off work till dinner time and I don't want him alone in case something goes wrong with it. Hell I don't want to leave him alone period these days but I've gotta pick the battles I know I can win now."

"Wasn't planning on letting him out of my sight," Derek assured him. "I'll try to get him to eat some lunch and sleep some more."

"You're a good man, Derek," John said, his smile audible in his voice. "Tell Stiles to give me a call when he wakes up."

"Will do."

"I've got to get back to work now. Drive safe, son," he said before hanging up.

Derek smiled slightly as he set his phone back in the cup holder, enjoying the small warmth that bloomed in his chest.

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	6. Chapter 6

As a born werewolf, Derek had been controlling his heightened senses since he was old enough to understand his mother's instructions. He'd spent countless hours with his sisters and cousins running through the Preserve as they played the games she organized, each one designed to teach them to focus or mute different senses. Not only was it necessary to learn in order for them to interact with humans without detection, but with a family as large as his, there was no other way to survive in the household. If you couldn't control your senses, you learned way more about your family members than you'd ever want to know. He had been mentally scarred more than once hearing something he wasn't meant to hear. As long as he wasn't running for his life or searching for something, it was second nature for him to turn down his senses a bit and relax into his environment.

So Derek felt he couldn't be blamed for the car jerking sideways on the road as Stiles suddenly woke with a shout, his arms trapped as they flailed beneath Derek's jacket. The music he had been playing on the radio seemed like a whisper in comparison to the noise Stiles's body was making. His racing heart sounded like a pounding drum beat in his ears, coming too quickly to be healthy. "Stiles!" Derek shouted in alarm as he pulled over to the side of the road, pulling his leather jacket off Stiles to grab his moving limbs. "Stiles, it's okay, it's okay! You're awake now, you're okay," he assured him as he grabbed his wrists, squeezing gently. "I'm here, you're alright."

Stiles struggled against his grip for a moment longer before his gaze seemed to focus on him, the tension leaving his body. "Derek?" Stiles panted, the fear in his expression transforming to confusion as he looked around the car. "What's going on?"

"Yeah, yeah it's me. We went to get your tattoo, remember? You fell asleep on the drive home," Derek reminded him as he released his wrists. "Everything is okay now."

Stiles looked down at his hands, quietly counting his fingers before looking back up at Derek. "Okay, everything's okay," he murmured to himself. "Where are we now?" he asked as he rubbed tiredly at his eyes. "Did I sleep long?"

With a last glance at Stiles, Derek turned back around in his seat, moving the car back into the road. "Just got back to town a little while ago; you've been out almost the whole drive," he replied. "We'll be back at the loft in a minute. Are you hungry?"

He shrugged his shoulders, picking up Derek's jacket and wrapping it around himself again. "Don't really have an appetite," Stiles answered flatly as a shiver went through his body.

Derek frowned slightly as he glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "I'll make you something light," Derek declared as he parked his car, shutting it off. "See if it helps you."

"You don't have to," Stiles mumbled, picking at his nails. "I've bothered you enough today; I can just drive myself home. I'm sure you have things to do."

"You're not bothering me. And I don't have anything to do that can't be put off for you," Derek assured him as he unbuckled his seatbelt. The scent of Stiles's hesitation and nervousness filled the car, making Derek anxious to dispel the smell. "Let me at least make you some food. If you wanna leave after that, then that's fine."

Stiles chewed on his lip for a moment before nodding slowly. "Okay," He acquiesced, reaching for his backpack on the floor of the car. "Just for a little while. And I can't promise I'll eat much."

Derek smiled at him encouragingly before climbing out of the car, waiting for Stiles to scramble out of his seat before heading into the building. "You should call your dad," Derek suggested as he slid open the door to the loft. "He called me while you were asleep. Didn't want to wake you."

"Probably got my voicemail," he replied with a grimace, taking off Derek's jacket and draping it over the back of the couch. He scrubbed his hand through his hair before plopping on the couch. "He's gonna be pissed with me."

Derek handed him the half finished bottle of Gatorade from the car before squeezing his shoulder gently. "Drink that first; you gotta rehydrate before you stress yourself out more. Talk to your dad and I'll get cooking. Just come whenever you're ready," he replied as he headed toward the kitchen, trying to give Stiles some privacy as he pulled his phone out of his backpack.

Derek opened the fridge, thankful that he had gone grocery shopping the day before; at least he had a few options on what he could make for Stiles that would actually sit well with him. Grabbing the rotisserie chicken and a handful of vegetables, he set to work on the soup, his mind focusing on the repetitiveness of peeling and chopping the vegetables. He could pick out a word or two from Stiles's conversation with his dad, but overall tried to ignore what was being said. He'd be a liar if he said he didn't want to know, but it wasn't his business; if Stiles wanted to tell him, he would.

The soup was simmering on the stove by the time Stiles drifted into the kitchen, the empty Gatorade bottle in his hand. He had removed his sneakers, his socked feet moving quietly against the floors, and his hair stood up in every direction, probably from running his hand through it too many times. "Your hair makes you look like a porcupine," Derek commented lightly before turning back to the pot on the stove.

"That's rude," Stiles retorted without heat as he settled into one of the chairs at the table. "Food smells good. Soup?"

Derek nodded, "Chicken and rice soup. Mom's recipe."

A small smile perched on Stiles's lips, as he crossed his arms on the table. "No food is ever as good as a mom's recipe."

"Definitely. I never get it exactly the same as hers but it's pretty damn close," Derek answered as he turned to face Stiles, leaning back against the counter. "How's your dad?"

Stiles groaned softly, dropping his head onto his arms. After a moment, he raised his head again, resting his chin on his arms. "He's pissed I just went off and got a tattoo without telling him. Even though I'm eighteen years old and therefore a legal adult who does not need their father's permission to get a supernatural tattoo," he answered. "Not that he would have given it if I had asked anyway."

"If it makes you feel better, my dad probably wouldn't have been thrilled that I got a tattoo burned into my back," Derek replied. "Got it when I was seventeen."

"That does," Stiles replied with a grin. "After the rant he calmed down cause obviously the tattoo's not going away so there's nothing he can do about it." He paused again, chewing lightly on his thumbnail as he looked down at the table. "He said he's gotta work the overnight shift tonight. Someone called off and he's gotta cover it. They're really short-staffed now. Since everything."

Derek opened his mouth before closing it again, nervousness halting the words on his lips. He knew it was a normal thing for him to say, to offer to a packmate in need, but his feelings for Stiles had him double guessing his words. Stiles always made easy things confusing for him. Taking a deep breath, he turned back to the stove. "If you want...you could stay here tonight," he offered, his eyes focused on the boiling soup in the pot. "I wouldn't mind the company or anything. We could...hang out?"

Silence hung thick between them before Stiles exhaled loudly, causing Derek to turn around again. "Yeah that'd be...that'd be really good, man," he answered in relief. "Thanks, Der."

Derek nodded, a light blush on his cheeks. He could feel his heart beat faster as they simply looked at each other, the silence shifting into something more. After a moment, he cleared his throat, looking away. "Soup's gonna be done in a minute," he said as he grabbed two bowls from the cupboard. "Grab something to drink."

Stiles stayed seated for a moment before pushing his chair back. "Now since soup is a liquid, does it technically count as a drink and not a food?" Stiles mused as he got up from his seat and shuffled toward the fridge.

He rolled his eyes fondly, preparing himself for what he was sure would be a long, enthusiastic debate. "It's a food, you dork."

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	7. Chapter 7

Here we are everyone at the end of a story that spun completely out of control. Thank you all for reading and reviewing my story! I hope to have something new for you all soon. Reviews please!

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Derek slowly reached for the remote control as the Netflix screen asked if they were still watching, being careful not to jostle the head resting on his shoulder. After turning off the tv, he tossed the remote onto the couch beside him, leaning his head against Stiles's lightly. His soft hair tickled his cheek a bit, the scent of his shampoo filling his noise. Stiles huffed quietly in his sleep, his arms momentarily tightening around the pillow he held against his chest before relaxing again.

All things considered, Derek thought it had been a pretty good afternoon. After having lunch -Stiles had managed to eat two bowls of soup and Derek's wolf was running laps out of joy, happy he could provide for him in this small way-, they'd crashed out on the couch for the rest of the afternoon. Derek was secretly thrilled he'd caved to the whims of the pack and updated his loft when he returned to Beacon Hills. Now there were comfortable couches for Stiles to relax on, covered in soft throw pillows selected by Lydia, and a brand new television hooked up with Netflix. The way Stiles rambled about the various pros and cons of their Netflix options, complete with flailing and ridiculous facial expressions, gave Derek so much hope that Stiles would eventually recover that he couldn't help arguing with Stiles about his choices just to hear him ramble a little more. Eventually they settled on the Planet Earth series, something interesting enough to keep them entertained but would inevitably put them to sleep. After a few episodes, Stiles's commentary began to slow down, his words slurring slightly until his head fell against Derek's shoulder as he dozed off.

"Stiles," Derek called gently, shaking his wrist slightly. "Stiles, wake up."

Stiles sniffled loudly as he woke, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He rubbed his cheek against Derek's shoulder a few times before raising his head. "Hmm," he mumbled sleepily as he turned his head toward Derek. "What's wrong?"

"Your neck is gonna kill you if you sleep down here," he answered as he stood, offering his hand to Stiles. "Let's go to bed."

"Kay," Stiles replied easily, slipping his hand into Derek's and letting his strength pull him to his feet. He stumbled into Derek briefly before straightening himself up.

Derek shook his head fondly as he took in Stiles's half closed eyes and messy hair. He was pretty sure if he left him alone, Stiles would fall asleep on his feet. "Come on, we gotta tackle the stairs," Derek murmured, placing his hands on Stiles's shoulders to lead him upstairs.

Stiles woke up more as they moved up the stairs, hands rubbing at his eyes. By the time they reached Derek's room, he was more or less awake, smothering yawns behind his hand. "I coulda slept on the couch," he mumbled as he flopped back onto the bed, a tired sigh leaving him. "But your bed is super nice too."

Derek rolled his eyes, choosing to ignore the comment as he searched through his drawers for something that would fit Stiles. Stiles was normally smaller than him, but with all the weight he had lost, he didn't know if he had anything that wouldn't drown Stiles in extra fabric. "Try not to fall asleep getting dressed," he commented as he threw a pair of draw string sweats and an old, shrunken Henley at Stiles's head, grinning at the indignant squawk he received in reply. Gathering up his shorts and a T-shirt, he headed across the hall to the bathroom.

Stiles was wrapped up in his blanket on the left side of the bed by the time Derek returned from the bathroom, his eyes half open. He pushed down the contentedness that filled his chest as he gazed at Stiles, basking in the relaxed, sleepy expression on the man's face. Now definitely was not the time for it. "Didn't fall asleep," Stiles said with a grin, pulling Derek from his thoughts as he raised the blanket in welcome.

He shook his head fondly as he walked over to his nightstand, picking up one of the many books he had stacked there. As much as his wolf whined to climb into the empty space beside Stiles, Derek knew it would be much smarter to head back to the living room. "Go back to sleep now," Derek replied. "I'll be downstairs."

"Wait, what?" Stiles said, scrambling out of his blanket cocoon to grab onto the back of Derek's shirt. His brown eyes were wide and alert as his fingers tightened their hold on his shirt. "Why?"

"To sleep," he answered, raising an eyebrow in confusion. "You take the bed and I'll sleep on the couch."

"No way, dude," he replied as he released Derek's shirt and tried to fight his way out of the blankets. "I'm not kicking you out of your own bed; I'll sleep downstairs."

"No, you're not. You need the sleep more than I do. You look like a zombie," Derek retorted.

Stiles snorted loudly as he finally stood. "Gee, Derek, tell me how you really feel," he spat, his hands braced on his hips. He stared down at the bed for a moment before looking back up at Derek with a determined look on his face. Derek was well acquainted with that look; it was a worrying look. There was a 50-50 chance about whether the look was good news or bad news, but whatever it was, he knew wouldn't be getting out of it. "You've got a pretty big bed, Derek," he commented lightly. "It's like what? A king size?"

Derek raised an eyebrow, "Not happening."

"It's more than big enough for two people," Stiles continued, ignoring him. "Especially since I'm as big as a pack of Twizzlers right now."

"I'm not sharing the bed with you," he growled lightly.

Stiles gave him a flat look, "Then I guess we're both gonna sleep downstairs cause I'm not taking your bed from you. Your bed can just stay empty all night."

"Why are you like this?" Derek groaned, raising his eyes to the ceiling as if the answer might be written there.

"It's a gift," he answered with a shrug. "Now are you gonna get in bed or am I gonna entertain your downstairs with the endless amount of trivia I've got stored in my head? I can go on for hours, trust me. I'm sure I can stay up talking instead of sleeping."

Derek huffed, turning on the lamp on his nightstand. "Get in so I can turn off the lights," he grumbled. "And I'm leaving the lamp on so I can read."

"Fine by me," Stiles answered easily as he climbed back into bed and settled into the blankets. "I'm sure your mountain of broodiness will block out enough of the light so I can sleep."

He swatted Stiles's head lightly, smirking at his yelp, before turning off the light. By the time he arranged his pillows against the headboard and climbed into bed, Stiles was much closer than Derek recalled him being, his brown eyes watching him steadily across the few inches that separated them.

"Here," Stiles murmured as Derek finally settled on the bed, tossing one side of the blankets over Derek's legs and torso. "Don't say I'm a blanket hog."

Derek ducked his head as a smile formed on his lips, turning to grab his book on the night stand. "Wouldn't dream of it. As long as you don't try to push me off the bed," he retorted, adjusting the blanket to his satisfaction.

"I uh...I wanna apologize right now for the nightmares I'll probably have," Stiles said in a small voice, his eyes averted. "I mean there's like a 96% chance I wake up screaming and the other 4% chance is that I'm too exhausted to dream, which happens occasionally and it's been a really long day so maybe it'll happen tonight but uh. I mean if I wake you up or bother you, I'll just go back to sleep on the couch or something. No one wants to deal with that. _I_ don't want to deal with that."

"Stiles," Derek said gently, waiting for his eyes to meet his before continuing. "You don't have to apologize for your nightmares. I'm sure everyone has them. _I_ still have them. It's okay."

Stiles stared up at him, relief slowly filling his expression as he nodded. "Thanks man," he said softly.

Derek nodded in response as he opened his book, trying not to be overly aware of how Stiles scooted closer to him. His face was aligned with Derek's thigh, his warm breaths filtering through the material of Derek's shorts. His wolf whined in impatience, wanting to curl up around Stiles, to scent the man and protect them as they slept. He brutally shoved those feelings aside, forcing his attention to his book. He was adult enough to admit that he had feelings for Stiles, more than just friends feelings. But he also knew now was not the time for Stiles to have any romantic entanglements. If he didn't take the time to find himself again and heal, he didn't know if Stiles would ever truly recover. Derek was sure his feelings for Stiles weren't going anywhere; he had no issue waiting for him to be ready.

"What are you reading?" Stiles asked curiously, peering up at the book's white cover.

He flipped the book shut, showing him the cover. "Ordinary people by Judith Guest."

He snorted softly, "Our lives are so nuts that you have to read about ordinary people to know they actually exist. Is it any good?"

Derek nodded as he opened the book again. "Yeah, I had to read it for a lit class in college," he replied. "I still pick it up and read it once in a while."

"You went to college?" Stiles exclaimed, pushing himself onto his elbows. "When?"

"Back in New York," he explained. "Laura made me get my GED online when we moved. Then she pushed me to take college classes so I'd get out of the apartment and interact with the world. Her words, not mine. Never got to finish my degree though."

Stiles shook his head as he plopped back on the bed, yawning. "Just when I think I've got you all figured out, you surprise me again, Derek Hale."

"Could say the same thing about you," he replied, watching as Stiles blinked sleepily at him.

"Me? I'm an open book; I never shut up."

Derek hummed in disagreement. "You don't shut up, but there's a lot of times where you're not saying anything much. Or you're talking but not about yourself."

He groaned softly, rubbing his hands across his face. "I'm too tired to deal with you playing therapist to me. Too many new sides of Derek Hale for a tired Stiles to handle," he replied, his words muffled by his hands.

Derek rolled his eyes, smiling fondly. "Go to sleep, Stiles. We can talk therapy in the morning when you're coherent."

Stiles peeked up at him through his fingers. "Have _you_ been to therapy?" he asked curiously.

He nodded, trying not to be offended by the shocked look on Stiles's face. It helped that the shock was rapidly replaced by something that looked suspiciously like pride.

"Nope, too much information," Stiles declared, rolling onto his side so his back pressed against Derek's leg. "I'm going to bed. Need to be well rested to handle all of this."

"I've been telling you to do that for the past ten minutes," Derek replied without heat, his hand unconsciously reaching to stroke Stiles's hair. His hand froze as he realized what he was doing, but his retreat was halted by Stiles pressing back against him more firmly, a small pleased noise coming from him. "Good night, Stiles," he murmured, his hand continuing its stroking as he turned back to his book.

"Night, Der," he mumbled sleepily, his eyes closing. "Sweet dreams."

Derek looked down at Stiles again, listening to his breathing even out into sleep, his heartbeat slowing from its normal jackrabbit pace to something calm, something soothed. This was only a small step toward recovery for Stiles, but it was a hopeful one. Something they could hold onto. "Sweet dreams, Stiles."

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